ACT I - Aldridge
It was raining. The sky emptied itself in icy sheets over the city, washing away the grime from the roofs and running in torrents down the busy streets. A young girl no older than nineteen struggled to hold onto her umbrella as the wind assailed her with its harsh, chilling gusts. Her eyes of jade glared at the angry sky, dark with the mounting storm. She hated the rain.
Realizing she was getting more and more lost by the minute, Christine decided to follow other's examples and temporarily seek shelter at a nearby bus stop, uttering a few modest apologies as she squeezed her way between a few of the stranded travelers waiting in vain for the rain to let up. She fumbled in her pocket and removed a crumpled piece of notebook paper with directions hastily scribbled on it. She was on the right track, that much was for certain. The directions were vague, but she passed enough of the listed landmarks to know that she was close.
"Excuse me..." she hesitantly asked the man to her left. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Aldridge Institute and was wondering if you knew-"
"How should I know?" He snapped, not even bothering to look at her.
Christine flushed in indignation. Was this how all people in the city treated each other? She opened her mouth in outrage to give him a good telling-off but was stopped short by a gentle tapping on the shoulder. It was an old lady, a shopping bag cradled in her arms.
"Excuse me, dear, did you say you were looking for Aldridge?"
"Oh... yes, ma'am. I am."
"If you just follow this street for about another block, take a right, and its not far from there. There's a big sign; you can't miss it."
"Thank you very much." Christine said with relief, fumbling with her umbrella. She took a deep breath before braving the storm once more.
"Be careful, dear!" she heard the old lady say to her retreating figure.
It didn't take long before she beheld the tall, menacing iron gates of Aldridge Institute of Performing Arts and the stately-looking old buildings beyond the courtyard. It was obviously an elite school, and quite expensive to attend. Her father was by no means a wealthy man, but he had put aside a substantial amount for her to attend school here. Once she had navigated the courtyard, it was easy enough to find the right student apartment complex. Before she had a chance to celebrate, however, a powerful gust of wind took her off-guard, ripping the umbrella out of her hands and carrying it away.
Cursing under her breath, Christine dropped her head so that her dark hair fell forward, shielding her face from the rain. She stared at her soaked shoes in misery as she plowed forward one step at a time.
A pair of shiny rain boots suddenly entered her field of vision, and she froze in alarm the same time the icy drops on her neck stopped. A thin arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she looked up. Dripping ropes of coffee-colored tendrils dangled in her face, and she glared at them in annoyance.
"Aww, look. It's an abandoned cat." It was the lovely Meg Giry, looking at Christine with amusement glittering in her eyes as she held an umbrella above them both. "Bedraggled... Sad... Should I take it home?" Her soft fingers brushed the irritating hair from Christine's face. "I was wondering where you were, and saw you coming from the window. Are you alright?"
Christine smiled at the fair, honey-blonde girl beside her. They'd been friend's for many years, and both had taken a year off from school after graduation (much to their parent's chagrin) to travel Europe together, under the pretense of "becoming acquainted with the culture and scenery of the places which had given birth to the very music they study", or something to that effect.
"Just having a bad day, I'm sorry I'm late." she replied, embracing the concerned girl briefly before they continued their trek to there new home. "I kept getting lost, then it started storming, and everytime I stopped for directions people were very unpleasant-"
"The 'unpleasant people' part of your day isn't over yet." Meg warned, pausing at the door of the old building. "You haven't met the residence warden yet. You have to get your key from him. He wouldn't give me yours, the asshole."
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"I'm making tea; you interested?" Meg inquired as she entered the small kitchen.
"No, thank you." Christine replied, setting her soaked bag down as she observed what was to be her new home.
The modest, two bedroom apartment was cluttered with stacks and stacks of boxes, some of which had already been opened, likely by Meg. Most of the students attending Aldridge stayed in the dorms, and only the ones willing to pay the extra cost scored a place in "the villa", as the students called it. The only reason Christine found herself in such a position was because she was best friends with Meg, the daughter of Madam Giry, who was one of the associate deans. Meg had insisted on Christine living with her, and she wasn't about to turn down such a generous offer.
As she gazed around in despair at the work that lay ahead of her, Christine glimpsed a sliver of polished hard rock maple wood from behind a stack of boxes. Her heart gave a little flutter as she navigated her way through the mess until she found herself before her beloved Steinway piano.
She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been worried about it. Moving a piano can be tricky, and while the school employed professionals for such a task, she couldn't help but feel a bit of anxiety for it. It was a family heirloom, older even than her grandfather, and was very important to her. She slid her fingers over the sleek finish of the casing and was relieved to see that it was completely undamaged.
Christine could certainly be considered accomplished for her age when it came to music and the performance arts, thanks in large part to her parents. They had an amusing little war with eachother concerning her lessons since her toddler years, both wanting her to follow in their own footsteps.
Her mother was a star on Broadway, and before her sudden death by car accident when Christine was barely 10, ensured that her daughter was well versed in dance and acting, and personally saw to her singing lessons. Her father, on the other hand, was passionate for classical music. He was a well-known conductor and master at violin. He taught her everything he knew about violin, and she was found to be extremely good at it.
Despite all of the encouragement and training she recieved from her parents, she just couldn't seem to make herself feel passionately about music the way they did. With every praise and glow of pride from her parents she found it increasingly difficult to tell them the truth. For years she lived this lie. That is, until the concert.
It wasn't the first time she'd seen a concert. In fact, having a father as a conductor, she'd been to many. But it was the first time she'd seen a piano concerto. She had one of the best seats in the house; alone, for her mother was gone for a few years at this point. She clapped along with everyone else when her father, in the dignified stroll of a conductor, made his way to the podium and bowed lowly. A hushed silence followed in anticipation for the concerto to begin. Christine's eyes had already gone out of focus at this point, expecting it to be another long night of boring and predictable crescendos and candenzas.
Then came the music.
It started with the piano. Soft, low, bell-like tollings set the mood for the piece, building tension, drawing her interest just in time as it exploded into something more urgent. She watched in fascination as the pianist whose name she could not recall swayed slightly with the melody of the accompanying orchestra, nimble fingers dancing expertly across the polished ivory keys. She didn't have to be a piano player to know that it was a difficult song, riddled with arpeggios and half steps. The composition itself was unpredictable, unstable even, but in the most fascinating of ways. The instruments themselves seemed to be battling it out for dominance of the melody, though the piano always seemed to win out. As the music built and built into an intense climax, Christine remembered fumbling for her program guide and opening it to read a single name: Rachmaninov.
From that moment on she was in love with the piano. She still took her violin and voice lessons and excelled, mostly for her parent's sake, but during she was anxious to get back to the smooth white keys of her father's Steinway. She knew she had a long way to go to catch up, for many accomplished piano players started as early as age three, but that didn't deter her in the least. She was a natural at it, and her father supported her wholeheartedly. He died less than a year before, and she missed him more than anything in the world...
"-fore it gets too late..."
Christine blinked. "I'm sorry Meg, I was zoning out. What was that?"
"I said you better head downstairs to Mr. Brewer's before it gets too late. You'll need a key of your own."
Nodding in agreement, Christine tied her still sopping wet hair back with a hair tie and wiped the running makeup from her face with the back of her sleeve in an attempt to make herself half-presentable.
"Good luck~" Meg called ominously to her retreating back as she entered the dimly lit hallway.
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Not long after knocking hesitantly on the residence warden's door, it was quite suddenly yanked open and she found herself face-to-face with the disarmingly angry face of a man who looked to be in his early thirties. His severe eyes seemed to be set in a permanent glare behind his glasses. She figured if he would only try to smile, he might appear somewhat attractive.
"Yes?" He snapped. So much for attractive. Her opinion of him took a downward spiral. "What do you want?"
"Mr. Brewer?" she managed nervously. He eyed her warily.
"What do you want, little girl?" he repeated, voice positively dripping with venom.
She blinked, taken aback, but managed to bite her tongue on the lashing she wanted to give him. Little girl? "I'm just here for my key-"
"Daae?"
"Yes, sir."
He opened the door wider before turning away and re-entering his apartment. She took this as an invitation to follow, and it seemed to be the right thing to do, for he pointed at his leather couch with the command "Sit." She complied.
She heard fumbling of drawers and the rustling of paper from the next room. Before she even had time to wonder what he could be doing, he was striding back into the room and tossing a stapled packet of papers before her on the coffee table. She lifted it hesitantly and read "Rules and Regulations of Aldridge Student Apartments" typed in bold at the top of the first page.
"No parties, alcohol, weapons, or any illegal substances are allowed inside this building. Curfew for Freshmen is at 1 am sharp, no exceptions, and that includes having guests. No one is to spend the night without permission from the residence warden of the building in which you are staying, but I can tell you right now you may as well not even bother. I always say no."
Christine blinked at him in surprise as he continued to glare at her with his sharp eyes. Does this guy think he's some kind of dictator? she wondered.
"I lock the doors every night at 1, so unless you want to get locked out and risked getting in trouble with security, I suggest you not be late. Break any of the rules, and I won't hesitant to kick you out on the street." His gaze hardened before he continued, "Do I may myself clear?"
Her voice failed her, so she settled on nodding.
Tossing her a key from his pocket, he said, "Sign the agreement and get out."
She'd never been more willing to comply.
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Author's Note:
First chapter of what is sure to be a fairly long story... I apologize if it seemed a little slow; I promise it will pick up soon. . Just have to set up the story and get all the background details set up, you know? I actually have quite a bit of this written, but I tend to jump around alot so I don't forget scenes. I need to tie it all together and tweak it a bit. 2nd chapter should be up soon.
I'll try to answer some questions you might be wondering:
1) Why a music school instead of an opera house?
Just trying to keep it modern. Music oriented people her age typically attend school before pursuing a career in classical music. At least, the people I know do. Even a prodigy needs instruction.
2) Of all the things she could be studying, why choose piano?
I know it would make more sense for her to stick with the traditional POTO singing, or even take up violin like her father, but the instrument I know the most about is Piano. Haha, what can I say; I'm obsessed with the piano. I can't help if my passion leaks into the story a bit. Don't worry though, her singing abilities are not going to be completely absent.
3) Is Brewer an oc?
Yes, Mr. Brewer is not from the original story or the movie. He's not supposed to represent any of the original characters.
4) Is this fiction based on the book, musical, Kay novel, or one of the movies?
A mixture of everything, I suppose. I love all things Phantom. Haha
Alright, I'll stop talking now. Thanks for reading~